


Stagelights

by museicalitea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Theatre, Light Angst, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narita’s face softened, and he reached out his other hand and pressed it gently to Kinoshita's face. “Are you alright? You look off.”</p>
<p>Kinoshita shook his head. “I’m okay. I am.” His throat stuck on the words and he swallowed. “I—butterflies.” He tried for a smile. “That’s all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stagelights

**Author's Note:**

> The mood of this was very heavily inspired by [Iris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8UeeIAJ0a0), so it might be worth your while giving that a listen either while you're reading or at some point soon before/after.

Kinoshita turned the handle with a click and pulled. The bottom of the door slid along the carpet with a _swish_ , and stopped solidly in place when he let go. Swallowing back the nerves creeping like vines up his throat, he stepped up to the curtains shrouding the doorway and pushed them apart, clenching the heavy velvet under his hand.

The golden glow of the lobby illuminated the aisle in a thick wedge before him, but as Kinoshita stepped into the auditorium and let the curtain fall behind him he was left in near-darkness. His breath caught, and his fists curled and tensed. The nerves that had been tugging at him all afternoon multiplied and caught him in their sickening grip. They thrummed in a dull buzz all through his chest, roiled in his stomach, clawed their way to the back of his throat. His face felt numb, tingling. But he forced himself to take shaky breaths, and somehow made his legs start walking in wooden steps down the aisle.

It was completely silent. His breaths sounded far too loud, and Kinoshita felt very aware of how alone he was. Even with the glowing EXIT signs cutting through the dark, the black of the auditorium was overwhelming. It seemed to press down on him, snaking itself over his shoulders and slipping away through the seats. The place was huge. He knew that. He’d stood on the stage and down in the orchestra pit, sat with legs hanging over the edge of the dress circle, and hidden himself away far up in the gods, seeing and never seen as he watched people and players small as ants walk and act and sing. The theatre stretched up for what felt like miles, high and grand and so, so vast.

But it seemed so small now. Just one carpeted aisle and the seats he was trailing his hand over to keep to his path. Or maybe it felt more vast than usual, and he was the one that had shrunk.

Narita had said he’d be here. He hadn’t said Kinoshita would have to wait, nor that all the lights would be off. He’d even called and not just texted to confirm the time, and yes, this was definitely the right place. Probably.

Swallowing back the lump that had risen in his throat, Kinoshita reached into his jeans pocket and after several forceful tugs—right, _this_ was why he never wore this pair of ass-tight jeans—he managed to extract his phone. He pressed the power button and squinted at the too-bright screen as he unlocked it. No texts. Nothing on LINE. Or Facebook.

He bit his lip to stop it trembling as he turned the screen off. Narita was only ten minutes late. Only ten minutes. Only…

(Only ten minutes had turned into twenty and then thirty and then an hour before. Five times before. Five men and five collective hours where he had realised they weren’t coming, and he knew he should be used to it by now. It shouldn’t hurt this much.)

Pushing his phone back into his pocket, he swallowed again as he thought. He wasn’t that far into the auditorium. He could get back to the lobby in just a few seconds. Back to his flat in fifteen minutes. Or there was the ramen place just around the corner—

The theatre suddenly glowed with silver light.

Kinoshita looked up, heart thudding. The carvings in the dress and grand circle partitions were thrown in stark contrast, shining silver and blackest shadow. The seats, illuminated, faced him blankly in never-ending rows. And as he craned his neck, all the breath left his body.

Stars. Tiny, sparkling pinpricks of silver-white light were sprinkled high, high above him. They seemed higher up than he had ever imagined the ceiling to be, and stretched the theatre further. It was taller, wider, deeper in this strange night light. And it made something settle in his stomach.

He was loath to take his eyes off the ceiling, but it occurred to him that someone must have caused the stars. Someone up in the gods—or, perhaps, backstage. The stage itself was still dim, but now he could hear something besides his own breathing. Footsteps. Quiet _thunks_. Now, the floor was lit enough that he could clearly see his way. And so Kinoshita started walking again, faster than before. The nerves were still thrumming, and his heart beat wildly in his chest, but the sick feeling had faded and his legs were no longer wooden. They felt light and alive as he walked—and then that walk turned into a run because there was something happening up there, someone was there and moving—

And the theatre plunged into darkness once more.

He stopped. And waited. He counted under his breath along to the beat of his heart thudding and echoing in his chest.

_Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven._

A chandelier, yellow-white above the stage. And below, hands in his pockets and a timid smile on his face—

“You came.”

Kinoshita pressed his lips together and nodded.

Narita’s smile widened and he held out his hand. “Come on up?”

Walking to the stage—down the rest of the aisle, and then into the orchestra pit and through the conductor’s door and then up the stairs—seemed to take an hour. He couldn’t push his feet fast enough, couldn’t make the ground rush away beneath him. But then, at last, he got to the top of the narrow staircase and through the door and there were the wings. He walked through them, his footsteps loud in the echoey backstage and then— _then_ —he was there. And there was Narita.

He was beaming, eyes crinkled at the edges. Tall and lean, he cut a striking figure standing near-silhouetted under the bright lights. He was all in black, slim-fitting trousers and a shirt with sleeves rolled up, and oh _wow_ , his _forearms_ … Kinoshita had watched his hands and arms countless times as he sat at a piano, playing slow and soft or swift and bright, but Narita always, always wore long sleeves. And a different kind of butterflies started up in his stomach because Narita had _really nice forearms._

He wet his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Narita extended his hand again, and Kinoshita let out a long breath through his mouth. He walked across the stage, and placed his trembling hand in Narita’s. Narita’s face softened, and he reached out his other hand and pressed it gently to his face. “Are you alright? You look off.”

Kinoshita shook his head. “I’m okay. I am.” His throat stuck on the words and he swallowed. “I—butterflies.” He tried for a smile. “That’s all.”

Some sort of tension released in Narita’s posture, and in a breath he pulled Kinoshita in close and dropped a kiss to his forehead. He smelled nice. Like ginger, and something soft and milky-fragrant. Kinoshita inhaled, and exhaled, and slowly let himself relax into his chest.

“You’re trembling,” Narita said, his voice a murmur in Kinoshita’s hair. “It’s okay if something’s wrong.”

“S’nothing,” Kinoshita said. He wasn’t sure Narita could hear him, but as the silence stretched on, he kept talking. “I just—when I got here, I didn’t know where you were. Thought you might’ve stood me up or somethin’.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and then Narita’s arms wrapped around his torso. They were tight and firm, warm and solid like the kiss he placed in Kinoshita’s hair.

“I wouldn’t do that. Oh, god no. Not to you. I’m sorry, I wanted to surprise you with the ceiling and all that but I shouldn’t—”

“It’s fine.” Kinoshita reached a hand up to Narita’s shoulder and pushed himself away enough to see Narita’s face, drawn and hesitant. “You did nothing wrong, it’s just me… This is lovely. This is really lovely, Kazu.” He smiled, and for the first time that night felt himself relax. “Thank you.”

The frown vanished, and Narita’s face was light again. Kinoshita reached up to the back of his head and drew him down, and Narita’s lips found his. They kissed, slow and deep. Narita’s lips were warm and slightly chapped, and as they pushed and pulled and melded together, Kinoshita felt tears pricking at his eyes at how _good_ it felt. He hadn’t thought a week would make much difference to how it would feel when they met up again—he’d been through most of the rest of his life without Narita there and it had been fine. But an ache he hadn’t realised was there rose briefly and then was lost in Narita’s firm embrace and his heady kiss, and even as it still lingered, not quite gone, a fierce surge of happiness welled up inside him.

_I don’t want to leave this. I don’t want to be away from him._

They parted sometime after Kinoshita had lost count of how many seconds (minutes? hours?) they had been kissing. Narita’s lips were reddened and swollen, and spread in a wide, elated smile. Kinoshita grinned back at him and laced their fingers together.

“That was a fucking good kiss.”

Narita laughed, and it rang out through the auditorium. “That’s good to hear.”

Kinoshita quirked an eyebrow up. “So, asides from showing off your kissing skills—which you will need to do again—and the stars—those are _awesome_ , by the way—we’re here… why, exactly?” He tilted his head back. “And what’s up with the chandelier?”

“Ah,” Narita said. “I was gonna get to that before, but—”

“You mean you weren’t planning for us to kiss? Tsk, tsk, Kazu, I’m shocked.”

“Shut up.” Kinoshita smirked as Narita mock-punched his shoulder. “Ahem. The chandelier is there for a reason.” He stepped back and straightened up and, for the third time that evening, held out his hand. “You know how to dance?”

“Like… ballroom dancing?”

“Mm-hm.”

Kinoshita shook his head, and Narita’s smile inexplicably grew broader.

“Well, then. Do you want to learn?”

Something warm spread through Kinoshita’s chest, like liquid sunshine, and he took Narita’s hand. It was a few shades darker than his, the fingers and palm longer and slimmer, and firm and sure as their fingers interlaced. Their hands fitted together like they had been made for each other.

Narita pulled a remote out of his back pocket and pressed a button on it. In light strains, and then all at once in a full swathe, music flooded the stage. He didn’t know the song, but it sent something stirring in Kinoshita. It made him feel weightless. Inexplicably, even more in love.

With one hand on Narita’s waist, Narita’s on his shoulder, and their other hands tightly laced together, they begun to move. Their circles were small, their steps slow as Narita guided Kinoshita through the moves. But the music picked up, and suddenly they were whirling around the stage, fast and powerful under the golden light of the chandelier. As they spun the walls and wings blurred, but Narita’s face stayed clear and bright, a beaming beacon. His arms were strong and unyielding in their grip, and his body warm beneath Kinoshita’s hand.

They fitted together easily, tightly. And for the first time in a very long time, Kinoshita felt like he never wanted to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I really really like theatre aesthetics. This started life as a gen semi-abandoned theatre AU and became not exactly gen, but there's some backstory here and I may expand this at some point.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/museicalitea) | [Tumblr](https://museicaliteacup.tumblr.com) (if you want to come and chat over ignored second year crows)


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